


Play Nice

by iridescent_blue



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, BAMF Nicky, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not for the faint of heart, Torture, all of them are badass as hell, am i going to give context for how they ended up in this situation? nah haha, andrew and neil are a Battle Couple haha, andrew gets revenge, dark nicky, dismemberment (its only kinda referenced? but still watch out), it is 2:30 a.m. i am Dead, none of this is happy but it is satisfying to see ppl get what they deserve, revenge at its finest, this is dark it is nasty, this is the creepiest shit ive ever written okay? like im kinda freaked out by my own brain, unbetaed and unedited completely and entirely, when i say gratuitous violence i Mean It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25780303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescent_blue/pseuds/iridescent_blue
Summary: Andrew remembers all of them. Names, faces, street addresses. It would be easy to get in, kill the guy, and get out. But that’s not enough. Picking them off the street, giving them what they deserve, then delivering them home in several garbage bags? Still not enough. They need to be destroyed, even in death.Andrew's demons get what they deserve.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose (Mentioned)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 49





	Play Nice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justwhatialwayswanted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwhatialwayswanted/gifts).



> OKAY THIS IS A DISCLAIMER RIGHT HERE PLEASE FUCKING READ IT  
> this is dark. it is scary. it is graphic. it is primarily just torture. i was uncomfortable writing it. please do not read it if you can't handle it. the andreil is barely there, if you're reading for that. please, be careful.
> 
> this was inspired by a conversation i had with @deus-ex-knoxina on tumblr, talking about how dark!nicky would be absolutely fucking Terrifying. she wrote a fic featuring dark!nicky too! similar vibe to this one.
> 
> take care. no judgment if u cant read this one. it's not for the faint of heart

They don’t start with the Moriyamas. No, that would be too big of a job, one that takes elaborate planning, finding an act of revenge that hits harder than murder, eating away at supports until they don’t know how much danger they’re in until they start to fall. Doesn’t mean they aren’t brainstorming, though. 

No, instead they start small. Lesser demons, if you will. People who, in all of their minds, needed to die a long time ago. Andrew’s demons. The ones who are good at taking advantage of those who can’t protect themselves. Fortunately, their entire team is more than suited to protect themselves. No issue here.

Of course, it’s not enough to kill a man and be done with it. Andrew confessed that he wants an equal exchange of energy, an eye for an eye, trauma for trauma. The perpetrator will be dead, but no one is truly alone. There will be families who mourn, and Nicky wants them to be disgusted with their grief. 

Andrew remembers all of them. Names, faces, street addresses. It would be easy to get in, kill the guy, and get out. But that’s not enough. Picking them off the street, giving them what they deserve, then delivering them home in several garbage bags? Still not enough. They need to be destroyed, even in death. 

They start with the first one. The one who took away Andrew’s concept of choice, the one who made him resolve to _never, ever,_ say please. They send in Nicky first. Nicky, charming, compassionate, _lying_ Nicky. He tracks down the mark at his job, a construction site. It’s easy enough. Nicky doesn’t have to fake the ogling younger construction workers, but he _does_ have to fake an interest in tennis. He shows up like clockwork, plays tennis with random people from four to five in the afternoon under a different name, then jogs a couple of blocks to where Andrew’s waiting to pick him up. He has a wire the whole time, picking up his conversations with the workers on their breaks, learning all of their names and faces and stories. He _connects_ with them, brings them candy he picked up at the convenience store, swallows down bile talking to _him._ Nicky is far from useless. Renee trained him how to use knives, Andrew taught him how to fight dirty, Neil taught him to scan for exits and make escape plans on the fly. But worming his way into a group without anyone noticing? Lying through a smile and a laugh? Holding his tongue, knowing that soon enough, justice will be served? That’s all Nicky.

Neil tracks the mark, going on meandering runs around the neighborhood to learn what route he takes home, slipping through the residential neighborhood in the dead of night to plant a tracker in the car, learning his family’s routines and the best time to take him, where he won’t be missed.

It takes a few months, but it’s well worth it. Andrew, always one for poetry and cycles ending at precise times, has chosen the day they take him to match the day that _he_ took everything from Andrew. On that day, Renee takes Andrew with her to grab the mark out of his car, while Nicky shows up for his tennis early. One of the guys on the site (Paul, yes, that’s his name) waves him over after an hour or so of playing. 

“Hey, Georgie!” He says. Nicky pulls out his earbuds and makes his way across the street, waving.

“What’s up, Paul? How’s Evie?” Nicky actually _cares_ about what’s going on in Paul’s life. Evelyn’s been battling childhood leukemia for around two years, and every day seems to be different. It sucks that Nicky’s going to be gone without a trace in a few days. Maybe he’ll ask Allison to keep tabs on her, just for his own peace of mind. 

Paul sighs. He’s only in his forties, but he hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since Evie got diagnosed, so it looks like he’s aged ten years in two. “She’s alright. They got her on a bunch of steroids right now, so she’s like the Energizer Bunny in the mornings. It’s good to have that time with her.” Nicky nods sympathetically. “Say, have you seen Josh around?” 

Well, Nicky knows exactly where Josh is, thanks to Andrew’s constant updates through his headphones. Currently, he’s in the basement of a warehouse two towns over, tied up and waiting. It’s a special occasion, they all want to be there for it. But no, Nicky hasn’t laid eyes on the guy all day. “No, sorry. I think he said yesterday that he was coming down with something? He’s probably just taking a sick day. Wouldn’t want anyone else on the job to get sick with it, right?” He says, smiling half-heartedly. There. That’ll take care of them calling Josh’s landline, giving them several more hours before anyone realizes he’s missing. By that time, they’ll be cleaning up, ready to deliver the package. As far as these guys know, Georgie McClellan is working a dead-end job at an accounting firm, waiting to save up enough money to be able to quit and travel the world. It’s only a partial lie. Nicky does work a job full of dead ends (just not his own), and he’s been planning a big trip with Erik to visit every place they’ve ever _dreamed_ of. His phone buzzes twice, loud where it’s tucked into his waistband, and he smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, I gotta go. Family dinner and I’m, y’know,” he gestures to his sweat-soaked t-shirt, “desperately needing a shower.”

Paul shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. See you tomorrow!”

Nicky starts jogging away. “See ya!” He calls over his shoulder, mentally tacking on _never_ at the end of his sentence. This was the last day he had to play tennis, thank the _Lord._ Sparring with Andrew is hell, but he’d rather go a hundred rounds in an air-conditioned room than play one more match against _Margaret,_ that _bitch._

Nicky runs further than he normally does, meeting up with Matt in a nondescript Ford pickup. Nicky quickly changes in the backseat, switching out his tennis whites (Andrew’s idea, Nicky looks _terrible_ in them but he blends right in) for black slacks and a blood-red button-up shirt. “Hey Matt?” he calls from the back. 

“Yeah?”

“You are an angel and a saint for bringing a sponge. I’m _disgusting.”_ Matt just laughs. Nicky further swaps his white socks for black, his tennis shoes (honest to God _tennis shoes,_ he bought them for this job and everything) for Converse, and tucks his sweaty tennis whites into the duffel bag that his new clothes were in. His knives are in a bundle at the bottom, a gift from Renee after their second job, and he goes about the task of fixing them in place on his person. When he’s done, he feels like a goddamn pincushion.

They arrive at the building shortly after. It’s completely abandoned, bracketed in by a dense forest on one side, empty buildings on the other. There’s a nondescript box truck parked in the loading bay, Andrew and Renee’s method of discreetly delivering their “package,” an added layer of security even though they’ve double and triple checked for any security cameras.

The building itself is a maze. Rooms upon rooms, staircases leading to nowhere, staircases leading to carbon-copy hallways with even _more_ rooms. Some doors are locked checkpoints that Neil has picked open, designed to automatically close in case of a fire. Anyway, in Nicky’s opinion, this building is very poorly designed to be able to escape in case of an emergency. Perfect for their use, then. 

They go down two flights of stairs to get to their designated room. Actually, it’s a set of rooms, so that they can keep their gear out of sight until they need it. Nicky and Matt swap their shoes for rubber rain boots, grabbing gloves as they enter. 

Renee’s set the room up perfectly. They’ve had plenty of practice on the people still loyal to the Wesninskis. The chair is facing away from the door, their rack of “communal” knives set behind it, tarps all along the floor. Aaron is in the corner, quietly unpacking cleaning supplies. After all, their mark needs to be _recognizable_ when they’re done with him. 

The mark (Nicky can’t call him _Josh_ now, can finally let down his guise of humanity towards this man, look at him with unfiltered disgust, knowing what he did to Andrew) is writhing in his chair, watching Andrew and Neil play catch with a wickedly sharp knife. Neil catches it by the blade more than once, but his thick gloves protect his hands. Under the fluorescent lights, Neil looks ghostly, the scars on his face stark and pale against his browned skin. He looks up when he hears the door open. 

Neil smiles. Nicky hates it 90 percent of the time it shows up, but he knows his face mirrors the same ruthlessness now. “So you finally decided to join us?” He asks. “We were about to get started without you.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Nicky says, relishing in how the mark goes still, recognizing his voice. “I had to cover for our friend over here, make sure everyone knew he was taking some time off.” He walks around the chair to face the mark. “Hi, Josh,” he coos, slipping a knife out from under his shirt. “You know, if you move less, it’ll hurt less.” He brings his knife up to cut the gag from his mouth, but then pauses. “Andrew, do you want the honors of first blood or do I have to be careful?”

Andrew shrugs. “I don’t care.”

“Alright. I’ll let someone else have it, anyway.” Nicky grips the mark’s hair with one hand, holding his head in place. “If you move right now, I might end up putting this in your eyeball. Neither of us wants to do that, hm?” The mark goes still. “Good. Thank you.” He cuts through the gag, proving just how deadly his weapons are. And he hasn’t sharpened them in weeks. He’s terrified of how quickly Neil or Andrew could reduce this man to literal shreds. 

As soon as he steps back, the mark spits out his gag. “Georgie? You’re with these guys?”

Nicky slips his knife back under his sleeve. “Nicky, actually. And yes. I _guess_ it’s a bit of an unconventional way to meet the family, but we’ve never really been normal, so I guess it’s alright.”

The mark looks around desperately. “Why am I here? I’m a good man, I have an honest job, I have a _family,_ I haven’t done anything wrong, I promise-”

“June thirteenth, 1993,” Andrew says, straightening up. It’s a bit frightening, how much he slouches. Maybe it’s the way his demeanor immediately shifts when he finally reveals just how much muscle is packed onto his frame. “Or maybe it was the fourteenth, it might’ve been after midnight. You’re telling me you don’t remember? You don’t remember your seven-year-old foster child in bed under you? I’m no expert on psychology, but that’s not exactly something you block out.” Andrew flips his knife. “You’re here because _I remember everything._ Every night. You made me _beg,_ do you remember that?” He intones, voice completely devoid of emotion. Out of the corner of his eye, Nicky spots Renee placing a hand on Neil’s shoulder, holding him back. Andrew looks like he’s on the edge of a breakdown, shoulders tense, gaze piercing, but he pushes through. “You are not a good person. You have committed a crime that does not expire, and you have gone unpunished for it for eighteen years. I didn’t even _know_ there was a name for what happened to me. I couldn’t report it. I was _seven,”_ Andrew spits.

“Andrew Doe,” the mark gasps, realization flooding his features. 

“Minyard, now. And you know what the worst part is? You were far from the last person. Eleven other foster homes, after you. Statistically, one should have been good. So you’re the first on my list. Eleven others are coming after you, they’re going to join you in that Hell you loved to talk about so much.” Andrew steps back. The mark goes to open his mouth, but Andrew cuts him off. “Begging will get you nowhere. At least, that’s what you told me, two weeks in.” He turns and leaves the mark in his wake, speechless.

Renee finally releases Neil, who gently guides Andrew out of the room. He needs time to cool down, time to process in another room in a different hallway. They knew this would get ugly for their psyches, so they’ve planned to work in shifts, taking breaks when it gets to be too much. 

Renee grabs a short, pointy knife off their rack and a small bucket, coming to face the mark. Nicky goes to stand with Matt, and Aaron passes him a bottle of Gatorade, before tossing two more bottles at Matt and pointing at the door. He leaves, bringing them to Andrew and Neil, who are more likely than not sitting in stony silence, unwinding before the main event. 

“We haven’t met,” Renee says apologetically, “but that doesn’t matter. Let’s get these shoes off, hm?” She doesn’t even wait for a response, tugging off the mark’s ratty boots, peeling off his socks. “One of my favorite nursery rhymes was the one about the pigs. Do you know it?” The mark shakes his head. “Oh, well, let me teach it to you. This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, and this little piggy had none. And this little piggy-” the mark cries out in pain. Something small thunks into the bucket. _Gross, Renee._ “Do you know the rhyme now?” She asks, unfazed by the fact that she just cut off his pinkie toe. 

“Yes, I know it, please stop, _please, I’m begging you-”_

“It doesn’t sound like you do. Oh, well,” Renee says and repeats the process on the other foot. Nicky thanks their foresight of using tarps. The first time, they had forgotten them and subsequently spent _hours_ scrubbing the place down with bleach. 

Nicky leans against the wall as he waits for the screams to subside. Once they do, Renee pipes up. “Aaron, could you pass me the hammer? No, not that one, oh yes, perfect. Thank you. And that piece of plywood?”

Nicky leaves the room. He’s fine with knives, but the sound of breaking bones is one he just _can’t_ handle. Especially when they’re being crushed. He runs into Matt on the way out, who makes a face. “She start swinging?” 

“She’s about to. Let me know when she’s done?”

“Sure thing, man.” Matt pulls Nicky into a hug. “Andrew’s doing alright. Neil’s taking care of him.”

Nicky sighs in relief. “Thank you. Go make sure the mark doesn’t bite his tongue off, okay?”

“Gotcha.” Matt closes the door behind him and Nicky slumps to the floor, pulling out his headphones and playing one of Andrew’s loud mixes to cover up the screams from inside. At some point, Andrew and Neil come back, the battle couple ready for round two. 

When Matt finally pokes his head back out to let Nicky back in, Andrew’s had his turn. The mark’s shirt is gone, in a bag that will get burned, and Andrew’s taken his time in an expedited recreation of his own scars. The issue is, a lot of Andrew’s scars are layered on top of each other, so for accuracy, he had to cut a bit deeper. Not that it matters, anyway.

Aaron’s there, cleaning blood off the chair and off of the mark’s arms with rubbing alcohol. It’s not out of courtesy. This is how Aaron makes it hurt. 

Nicky picks up his favorite knife, razor-sharp, long, and thin, and gets to work, humming over the mark’s whimpers. He carves what the mark _really_ is into his collarbones, wraps the names of his crimes around his biceps, underlines and bolds them for good measure. Where the others specialize in physical pain, Nicky is better at betrayal, naming and shaming, building things up just to rip them apart by hardly lifting a finger.

When he’s done, he steps back and accepts a rag from Aaron, meticulously wiping down his blade. “What do we think? Castration or nah?” The mark whimpers. It’s admirable that he’s stayed conscious this long. He’s lost a fair amount of blood. 

Neil shrugs. “Up to you, but it does mean you have to get up close and personal with his dick.”

Nicky shudders “Ugh. I’d rather not.” He goes and puts his knife away. “Well, I’m done. Neil, would you like the honors?” Neil smiles wickedly, perusing the collection of knives. 

“I’d be delighted. Andrew, any special requests?” Andrew shakes his head. _“Awesome,”_ Neil huffs, selecting a serrated blade. Oh, so he’s in a shredding kind of mood. _Fun._ “Listen, I would take you apart, limb by limb, here and now, but unfortunately you’re too tense.” Neil passes the knife back and forth between his hands. “So that will have to wait until _after_ your heart stops beating. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t put my education to waste.” With that, he efficiently tips the mark’s head back with one hand and starts sawing at his neck. 

It doesn’t take long for the mark to die after Neil breaks through his carotid artery. Once that’s done, they step back and take a breather, before Matt grabs a cleaver and Renee breaks out the blowtorch. Neil and Andrew leave, again. The tools are the most effective for breaking a body down and ensuring that it won’t ooze blood _everywhere,_ but they hit a little too close to home. Nicky goes back to their bags to get the garbage bags and final accessories for the job.

They staple the papers to his tongue. Andrew’s testimony, written in full, dates and times bolded, what the crimes are in the eyes of the law, emphasis on how Andrew was _seven,_ not even understanding how multiplication worked. It’s unsigned, no fingerprints left on it. No dignity, even in death. 

They leave the garbage bags in the mark’s garage. His wife will find them, come morning, after a night of worrying about car crashes and the prospect that he could be _cheating._ They’re out of California within three hours, headed to an airport in Nevada, where they’ll fly all the way to Palmetto, where Allison, Kevin, and Dan will be waiting with their cars and Betsy on the phone. And they’ll start planning their next mark. After a solid twelve hours of sleep, of course. 

One down, eleven to go. On to the next. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey birl! i did it! i wrote it! and there's another chapter coming (i don't know when, i haven't written it yet, its a bare-bones outline rn) of some moriyama tomfoolery feat. a LOT more of nicky's manipulation. thank u for letting me play with u in this space of bamf!nicky!! it was actually really interesting to me, trying to maintain the characters' humanity while also having them be neutral towards violence.
> 
> anyways i am going to bed because it is LATE and i need SLEEP
> 
> leave kudos if you liked this (or were horrifically fascinated/intrigued because "like" is a weird word to use here) yell at me in the comments. good night yall. sleep well.


End file.
